FYOP/Hollywood Hardware/0022
"You should get used to it," you urge the beautiful Janelle. "You know, you're... a work of art. A perfect creation. And I just feel lucky to have you."
"Awww, that's so sweet," she says, melting a little. "And you're not just saying that because I'm your girlfriend, right?"
"Of course not!" you reply.
"Good," she says, "because I'd hate to have to, like, kick y'all's ass or something."
"My ass has done nothing wrong," you try to joke.
"It better not," she replies, poking you in the chest. "I'll be watching you."
You really like that she keeps initiating physical contact. "You're gonna spy on me? Look—I'm technically your owner, but I believe in robot equality. I'm not gonna do things you don't want."
She looks at you for a long time, then nods. "Alright, boo. I can respect that. But just so y'all know, I'll be watching you."
"Yes, Ms. Janelle," you nod like a sullen schoolboy, trying to charm her.
"Oh, and one more thing," she adds, melting into a grin.
"Yes?"
"We're gonna have to have a serious talk about your taste in music," she winks.
"I haven't even told you what I listen to!" you protest, laughing.
"I don't care," she says, with an absolutely winning smirk. "It's all garbage."
Recovering from laughing, you say, "You win, smart aleck. No music when we go home. We'll just..."